You fear, Ligurra -- above all, you long -- That I should smite you with a stinging song, This dreadful honour you both fear and hope: Both quite in vain: you fall below my scope. The Libyan lion tears the roaring bull, He does not harm the midge along the pool. But if so close this stands in your regard, From some blind tap fish forth a drunken bard, Who shall, with charcoal, on the privy wall, Immortalise your name for once and all. |